Mother's Day
by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee
Summary: Angels do not have mothers, but that doesn't stop Castiel from visiting Dean's mom, Dean from visiting her grave or Mary from convincing Cas to bring her boys a pie this Mother's Day. Cas learns a bit more about being human, Dean learns that his mother is happy and Sam... just gets to eat pie. Everyone wins.


**Mother's Day **

Angels did not have mothers. They had a Father. And he was Good. But they did not have a 'Mother'.

Castiel, for example, sprang into existence fully formed, a being of light and pure, raw energy. Undefined, vague, sentient and powerful, his first hours were foggy and indistinct. He remembered very little of those moments. The only thing that came back to him now, hundreds of years after-the-fact was a feeling of warmth, like he was surrounded by pure, golden light beyond his newborn, narrow comprehension. He was truly safe, purely loved, and completely sheltered for the first and only time in his exceptionally long life. He never found that light, that _Presence _again. That loss would have made have made him lonely back when he could still remember it clearly, but he hadn't known what 'lonely' was then. And now it was just too long ago. For better or worse, The Presence was gone. And here he was, cold, unwanted, threatened and _alone. _

He didn't want to be alone.

A blink, a tiny flutter of his wings.

He opened his eyes to a grassy hill. A stone sign perkily declared this area as "Township of Lawrence, Kansas, Historic Cemetery: Guided Tours Upon Request, Ghost Tours After Six pm." Castiel thought humans were rather odd creatures. Always going on about the sanctity of the dead and yet here they were, apparently willing to go on tours attempting to scare up some poor disturbed spirit. The appalling stupidity alone could be taxing. And endearing. In its own way.

They grew on you after a while, these humans.

Castiel looked away from the capitalist sign and honed in on the figure he had come here to see. A lone man stood on a small hill in the cemetery. He wore a battered leather jacket, jeans and a tough-guy attitude. His back was to Castiel. His head was bowed and Castiel was fairly sure he had not seen him. The angel contemplated greeting him. Mulled over the idea for a good minute. Dean Winchester (for who else could it really be?) didn't move. That stillness alone was odd for him. In Castiel's experience, Dean was not a creature of stillness or patience unless it involved sitting or standing still long enough to deliver a particularly searing glare or angry/threatening speech before stalking off or punching someone. That sort of menacing stillness typically involved a lot of eye contact and invasion of personal space. Castiel still wasn't particularly sure what was supposed to be threatening about that. Both those actions seemed perfectly natural to him. Then again, humans were very odd creatures.

He opted not to fly closer, realizing that if he got too close before greeting Dean he might startle the elder Winchester thoroughly enough for him to pull a gun on him. Bullet holes were inconvenient, good trench-coats were hard to find, after all, and he still wasn't quite clear enough on the mechanics of 'laundry' to be certain he could get blood stains out of his suit. Instead, he approached on foot, padding over to the other man until he was a good three feet away. Then he deigned to utter a greeting.

It is said that when angels greet lesser creatures such as humans, trumpets blare, heavenly choirs sing and all manner of unnatural things happen all at once. Most sources would agree that angels do not greet mortals with mundane phrases. If they talk at all it must be in a booming, prophetic voice which carries for miles and is, all and all, rather ostentatious. Essentially, everyone knows that angels do not greet humans in a boring, everyday sort of manner. For example they do not do this:

Castiel tipped his head to the side, "Hello Dean," he intoned.

Dean didn't even twitch. That alone was odd. He normally at least jumped a _little. _This confirmed Castiel's suspicion that Dean acted startled when Castiel unexpectedly showed up mostly to make his angel buddy feel guilty for showing up randomly without bothering to respond to half of the Winchesters' demands for attention.

Instead of his usual over-done and profanity-laden reaction, Dean shrugged his shoulders "Hey, Cas." He didn't even turn around and glare.

Castiel was not an expert on body language, or humanity, much less human body language. However, he was something of an expert on _this _human. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to break him out of hell, and then was dragged across the planet on unnecessary misadventure after another by the very same human. Castiel often wondered if the misadventures were Dean's attempt at making him rue the day he ever _contemplated_ rescuing the Righteous Man from perdition or a back-handed attempt at thanks. So far he had been unable to come to a conclusion.

The oddly large amount of time spent in Dean's presence had all added up to Castiel being able to read Dean fairly well by his standards. By the rest of society's standards, Castiel's attempts at body-language-interpretation were still rather hit-and-miss. Castiel was unaware of society's rather harsh opinion of his limited social skills and as such, was quite proud of his Dean-reading abilities.

Nevertheless, Castiel saw instantly that Dean was not happy. He seemed rather… distressed. Not angry. Castiel had seen Dean's anger. He had seen Dean defeated, sad, grumpy, happy. He had seen many, many sides of Dean Winchester. This was a new side. He did not know what to make of it.

This moment of deep, introspective, Dean-contemplating apparently manifested itself in the physical world as Castiel staring intently at the back of Dean's head. For several minutes. Castiel himself was not made aware of this until Dean shifted uncomfortably rolling his slumped shoulders slightly and saying, "Hey, Cas, you still there? Cuz it feels like your trying to x-ray vision through my skull."

"I apologize Dean," Castiel replied automatically.

Dean just sort of shrugged again, his shoulders falling back into their slump, his chin dropping back down. Even his voice had sounded a lot less enthusiastic than usual. Castiel was sure something was wrong. After a moment of vaguely uncomfortable silence, Castiel spoke again. "Is there something wrong, Dean?"

Dean did not respond for several still moments. Then he exhaled. He waved his hand vaguely at the angel behind him, "Cas, come over here, it's creepy with you standing there staring at me like that."

Castiel nodded and came to stand beside Dean. Of their own accord, his eyes were drawn to the empty patch of grass Dean was staring fixedly at. There was yet another moment of silence, finally broken by Dean.

"Do you have a mom, Cas? I get that you have a Dad and he's a real dick, but do you have a mom?"

Castiel did not feel like arguing with Dean about his Father's… dick-like qualities at this exact moment. Although he was intrigued by the question. "I do not think so. We are not born like you are. We are Made."

Dean rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, us humans, we have moms. I had one too, and she was great." He shook his head, releasing his jaw and looking up at the sky. Castiel could see the clouds reflected in Dean's green irises.

"I am aware," Castiel commented. Then, feeling brave, he added, "I have met her."

Dean stiffened beside him, "You mean, when we went back in time…"

Castiel shook his head solemnly. "No. In heaven. She's there, you know. She didn't just disappear."

Dean laughed hoarsely, without humor, just a sort of newly dawning wonder, "I guess I sort of knew. But it's not the same. I always worried that they'd gotten her…"

Castiel allowed him a small, tight smile, "People like her do not go to hell, Dean; you know that."

Dean hunched his shoulders up slightly, "I still worried."

"You do not need to."

They stood in silence, but this time it was gentler, a softer kind of companionable silence. Dean broke it first, "It's Mother's Day, you know? A stupid, made-up holiday where people give their mothers cards and stuff."

Castiel thought about this for a long moment, "I do not believe my mother would want a card, if I had one."

Dean laughed, loud and full and slightly harsh and very _Dean._ "No, I bet she wouldn't."

"Why are we here Dean?" Castiel asked, after a slight pause.

Dean shrugged, "It's Mother's Day; I'm visiting. This is where she wanted to be buried. But the house burned and there wasn't anything left. She used to say when she dragged me and Dad here to visit her folks' graves that she wanted to be buried here so she could see the sky. So, I figured coming here counted as something, for Mother's Day and all." Here Dean trailed off, sounding slightly embarrassed by his own half-assed logic and how lame it really seemed.

Castiel simply nodded gravely, absorbing Dean's words, feeling the emotions behind them roll over him in a cloud of Dean-flavored nostalgia and sadness. Abruptly, Dean turned and walked began to head back to where Castiel could see the Impala parked in the lot. "Sammy'll be pissed if I stay out too late," Dean grumbled as an explanation, "We're in the next town over, looking into some sort of ghost thing."

Castiel followed Dean, simply listening to his friend talk and contemplating his own earliest memories, searching for the barest hint of a mother. But all he could find was his Father and his brothers and sisters.

Finally they stopped in front of the Impala. Dean looked up from unlocking the door, brow furrowed, "Did you need something, Cas? Cuz you normally only show up like this when the world's about to explode."

Castiel shook his head. "No. Happy Mother's Day, Dean."

Dean looked at him that way he did when Castiel did something particularly not-human and shook his head slightly.

Castiel smiled slightly, but kept his tone grave and serious. "When I saw your mother she made me a pie. It was apple. I might bring you some sometime. Maybe."

He flew off just in time to catch Dean's indignant, "You'd better remember the pie, you winged-" before he was gone, zipping through the dimensions back to a familiar kitchen in another version of that very same small Kansas town.

Mary Winchester greeted him with smiles, hugs and questions about her boys. Castiel the Angel of the Lord may not have a mother. He may only have dream of a memory of a Presence to explain his existence. But he has a friendly face to come home to who makes him pies and pesters him for news. She might not be his mother, but he'd take what he could get.

The next morning, Dean Winchester woke up to a homemade pie sitting on a plate next to his bed. A hand-written note in his mother's curly script is stuck underneath the precious pie-tin.

_Remember to thank Castiel. He's a very nice boy, for an angel. Eat your vegetables, play nice with your brother, do what Bobby tells you and don't get yourself killed doing anything dumb. You're smarter than that. _

_I love you so much, baby. _

_-Mom _

Dean is not ashamed to say that he teared up a little bit reading that note. He will never admit this to anyone, but he still has it stuffed in the inside pocket of his jacket, where it can't get lost. And he even was nice enough to wake Sam up and share the pie with him, despite Sammy's bitching and groaning about deranged brothers, pies, and ungodly hours of the morning.

Castiel watched the scene unnoticed, smiling. It had taken a lot of energy to bring them that pie. It took all his strength to remain invisible as the brothers divvied up the dessert. But he didn't mind sticking around. It was good to watch Dean's face light up with that much pure, unadulterated happiness for the first time in a long time.

Castiel dropped into a nearby chair, watching the Winchesters through drowsy, drooping eyelids. They really were doing quite well. Their mother would be proud. As he drifted off to the angelic equivalent of sleep, he felt a warm, golden Presence brush against the very edges of his senses. It was barely a whisper, but he thought he might have heard a voice whisper to him as he fell into the waiting arms of sleep.

"_Good work, my son. Get some rest." _

**Author's Note: Wow, this was not supposed to be this long. This was meant to be a ficlet. A **_**really short **_**ficlet. And now it's not. I'm not sure if that counts as a fail or a success or something in-between… Anywho, I hadn't meant to write this story right now. I had no plans whatsoever to write this when I turned on my laptop. No, I was going to write something very different, with a lot more comedy in it. (I'll write it soon, I promise). Instead, here this is. I hope you like it. **

**I always wondered about angels' mothers and if they had one. I liked the idea that they did. And I think Mary Winchester is one of the most underrated characters in the show, so I thought doing a piece focusing on her relationship with Dean would be cool. Please forgive me if Dean is a little OOC, this is my first time writing serious-Dean instead of comedy-Dean or action-Dean so I tried my best. I think he turned out well. **

**And finally, the Dean-Cas elements of this fic. I kept it open-ended on purpose. You can see the interaction in this story as Destiel or just a bromance thing, I am fine with either. Whatever floats your ship is cool with me. **

**PLEASE REVIEW! I LOVE HEARING FROM PEOPLE! **


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